


things you said i wasn't meant to hear

by tuomniia



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Or Is It?, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuomniia/pseuds/tuomniia
Summary: Meredith Rivers is a force of nature. A tempest. A storm on the horizon— all dark and heavy clouds, ready to burst and release their torrents down on scorched earth. She is the deafening roar of thunder felt deep in the cavity under the breast, long after the flash of light has already blinded the eye.
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain, Female Detective/Ava du Mortain
Kudos: 6





	things you said i wasn't meant to hear

**Author's Note:**

> no editing or planning we write on a whim and die like men

Meredith Rivers is a force of nature. A tempest. A storm on the horizon— all dark and heavy clouds, ready to burst and release their torrents down on scorched earth. She is the deafening roar of thunder felt deep in the cavity under the breast, long after the flash of light has already blinded the eye. 

Ava knows her, or knows this about her. Knows the sneer that curls into her features— a coiled snake, poised to bite— venom on her tongue. 

She’s ready to bite now, Ava can see it. The hazel of her eyes, the warm amber at their centre is alight. Scorching anything unfortunate enough to fall under their gaze. Rendering oak to ash. 

She almost feels sympathetic towards the poor trapper who had been unfortunate enough to catch Meredith on a bad day. Ava barely had to lift a finger when they were jumped. 

Meredith had whirled on the man, a man twice her size, and made quick work about digging her knee into his gut and slamming his face— with more force than what Ava would have deemed necessary— into the stone outcropping they had been patrolling along. And then she did it again, “for good measure,” according to the detective. 

Meredith stands apart from the now limp, and worryingly silent, trapper. Scoffing her displeasure and digging the toe of her boot into his ribs. Just to make sure he is truly no longer a threat. 

“I believe you may have almost killed the man.”

“Yeah, so?” Meredith spits back, “I didn’t see you handing it.” 

“I may have, if you’d given me the chance.” Ava bristles, feeling tension working up her spine. 

“Thank god you were here,” her voice is soaked, dripping heavy with vitriol, “or I may not have survived this pathetic excuse of a man trying to have his way with me.” 

Ava draws a slow breath, her patience is being worn thin. 

Meredith however, had no patience to begin with it seems. 

She doesn’t wait for Ava’s reply, instead turning on her heel and storming off into the forest. A gale-force blur of movement and ire swept up in the next gust of wind, headed back towards the town.

And so, Ava is left utterly perplexed at how one woman could be so full to the brim with complete displeasure about— well, everything— that it spills into everything and everyone around her. 

And yet. 

It’s impossible not to like her. A fact that had taken months to even come to notice beyond the unwelcome tugging of her heart telling her feverishly, with fervour, in words that are not words, but whispers in a foreign language of which Ava is not fluent— that Meredith is, under all else, a likeable person.

Shoving back her own irritability borne of Meredith’s sharp nature, she makes after the detective with haste. Meredith may be able to handle herself-- that which has been proven time and time again-- but Ava would not forgive herself if something happened, and she wasn’t there to prevent it.  
  
She swallows the hard knot in her throat as the sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above highlights the silvery traces of the scar on Meredith’s throat-- an unwelcome reminder of Ethan Murphy’s mouth wrapped viciously around her neck. A reminder of flesh torn. Of flesh rent. Made visible only because her dark and wild hair has been tied back in a sloppy and impatient ponytail.  
  
Meredith’s anger, though quick to rise, is also quick to ebb. She’s slowed back down after a few minutes of walking, and allows Ava to fall back into step beside her once more. Though she remains silent.  
  
It is in the slowed pace that Ava notices the uneven gait, the hesitation of the detective’s steps. She is favouring her ankle, and the absence of adrenaline has revealed injury. Without thinking, foolishly, Ava reaches out to pull Meredith to a halt, fingers wrapped around the crook of her elbow.  
  
She is so, so aware of the pulse, thready and hot, under her fingertips.  
  
Meredith, surprising Ava once more, doesn’t rip her arm from Ava’s grip. Instead, she turns to look-- first at Ava’s fingers on her arm, and then up to meet her eyes. “What?”  
  
“You’re limping.” Ava lets go of Meredith’s arm to gesture at her leg, which is cocked against the ground. Bearing no weight.  
  
Meredith sneers, though this time there is no malice, no venom. “So?” 

Ava resists the urge to recoil. “So? So, you need to look after it.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Meredith waves her off, and attempts to keep walking. Though, it seems the injury is worse than she lets on because she stumbles the moment she sets weight down.  
  
Ava has reached her arms out to steady her without thought, and unwittingly steps too close. She can smell the sweat, and the stale perfume wafting off of Meredith’s clothes. Can see the faded scar under her eye, only visible in afternoon daylight. Can see all the multicoloured streaks in her eyes.  
  
Meredith’s breath hitches in the same moment that Ava’s does. All else goes silent-- though Ava is not sure if she had even been listening to the forest noises to begin with-- now, it seems that even the trees, the birds, and the earth have been caught up inside the centre of her storm.  
  
Too close, too hot, too much.  
  
Still, neither of them move.  
  
“Are you going to let me go?” Meredith’s voice lacks any of her ice, and has adopted a gentler tone, if not awkward. Unfamiliar and unpractised.  
  
It takes Ava a frustratingly long moment to find her voice, “Are you going to allow me to check your leg?” it comes out rougher than she intended. 

Wordlessly, Meredith nods. Ava lets go, and watches Meredith reluctantly sit down in the nearest patch of moss. She avoids Ava’s gaze, and makes no move to roll up her pant leg, but she doesn’t stop Ava from doing it herself either.  
  
Kneeling, Ava gently rolls up the fabric. Her fingers brush against Meredith’s hot skin, and she notes the goosebumps that rise in the wake of her ghosting touch.  
  
Ava does not allow herself to linger on the observation, and instead she more firmly presses her palms on either side of the detective’s leg and slowly, carefully, runs her hands down the length. She is much too aware of the taut muscle, made slick with sweat of exertion and summer heat, and the scent of earth wafting up from beneath them.  
  
She is feeling for the heat of injury, and she finds it as her fingers wrap under the curve of Meredith’s knee. The heat of her skin intensifies, and she feels the beginning of swelling tissue. Can feel the pulse more strongly here. Tapping wildly against her palm. Gently, she presses a little harder, and Meredith sucks a sharp breath through her teeth and curses.  
  
“Fuck-- stop.”  
  
“You sprained your knee,” Ava sighs, pulling her hands away before Meredith can smack her away. “You shouldn’t be walking.”  
  
Meredith quickly rolls her pant leg back down, still avoiding eye contact. “Shit, what am I going to do, du Mortain? Fly home?”  
  
“If you allow me to assist you--” She is cut off by the sharp edged scoff that tears from the detective’s throat. 

“I don’t need your help.”  
  
“You do.”  
  
“ _Stop_.”  
  
“Give me your arm.”  
  
“Fuck, _Ava!_ ”  
  
Ava remains silent. Meredith’s voice changes. Subtly. It’s not anger, not now. There is a rawness, now, that wasn’t before. She is taut, quivering, gentle pulses of emotion.  
  
“ _Meredith_.” Her name leaves Ava’s tongue without permission, quiet and heavy, and made of emotion she dares not name, and far gentler than she means.

Around them, the forest begins to come back to life as the storm between them eases. Birdsong fills the spaces between the trees once more. Chattering mammals, earth song, and whispering leaves. Even the breeze has returned, as though the sky is releasing a gentle breath to ease the tension. It blows dark strands of hair into Meredith’s eyes, which are trained with intent on a patch of earth between her feet.  
  
“You don’t need to care,” she says finally. Her voice is thick, and Ava wonder’s what the storm had been hiding. What damage had the rain wrought? What is she hiding behind the dust kicked up by the gale-force? There is pain here, of that she is certain. More than a simple sprain.  
  
Then, in a voice just as broken, so quiet that Ava know’s she wasn’t meant to hear, “I don’t understand why you even bother trying.”  
  
It has never been a question of attempting to care, though. It was always a question of trying not to, and failing at every chance. 


End file.
